Rather a Tyrant
by jennyfair
Summary: A small collection of Reyer themed drabbles. Most imply a degree of affection on the part of one chief répétiteur for a certain Swedish orphan...but it's harmless, I promise.
1. Invisible

_A/N: Thanks to Gaston Leroux and Andrew Lloyd Webber. These drabbles are dedicated to sparklyscorpion and my fellow Reyer-lover Frey!_

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**Invisible**

There was little love in the life of a chief répétiteur. It rarely bothered him. He was good at what he did (at least, as good as possible with his inconsistent company) and that was satisfactory for him. Yet sometimes, there was a feeling other than satisfaction. It was not loneliness. He was far too set in his ways to regret not having someone else there to disrupt things. No, it was something else, something that troubled the tyrannical M. Reyer and made him check his beloved watch more often than necessary. It was the nagging feeling of being absolutely invisible.


	2. Secrets

**Secrets**

The Opera Populaire had just commenced its new season and the champagne flowed freely. Reyer sat in a corner and coolly oversaw the festivities. Suddenly, the woman he had secretly been observing sat beside him. "M. Reyer, you must have some champagne! I've had two glasses so far," Christine Daaé giggled, resting her palm on his forearm. Staring, he resisted the desire to cover her hand with his. She leaned in close, whispering, "Don't tell my Angel, he would be terribly upset with me!" The intoxicating softness of her hair against his cheek distracted him from the peculiarity of her words.


	3. Papercut

**Papercut**

"Damn." He tucked his newly-sliced thumb into his mouth before it could bleed on the offending score. _Not so tyrannical when reduced to thumb-sucking by a papercut, are you_? A knock, then Christine Daaé entered the room. His hand went immediately to his side, but not quickly enough. "Papercut?" she asked shyly. His mustache twitched; she wrung her hands. "M. Reyer, I wanted...do you truly think me capable of playing Elissa?" "Quite," he finally answered. She smiled in relief, briefly brushing his fingers with hers before leaving. His hand returned to his lips for an entirely different reason.


	4. Spirits

_A/N: Reyer__ isn't given a first name in the musical, but I've named him__ for my own purposes here. _

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**Spirits**

One thing was certain: Émile Reyer could not hold his drink. It was a fact he knew well and one upon which he was counting this particular evening. Clumsily pouring himself a third glass of brandy, he made a face and swallowed it like the previous two. And though the words on the label were agreeably blurry, his thoughts continued to turn to a certain dark-haired, light-eyed chorus girl. After several attempts his hand slid into his pocket to pull out a purloined length of satin ribbon. Touching it to his cheek, he muttered, "You're a fool, Reyer."


	5. Triumph

_A/N: Written after seeing a particularly good performance from David DeWitt, long-time Reyer with the US National Tour._

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**Triumph**

Her face beams in triumph. The final curtain falls and I rush onstage to meet her, cursing silently as I nearly collide with the rose-laden wardrobe mistress. With some maneuvering I am at Christine's side, taking her delicate hand in mine as I offer to escort her to her dressing room. She accepts, blushing charmingly as I praise her performance. She does object when I tighten my grip and draw her hand nearer to myself. I dare to press a kiss to her fingers before leaving her at the door, heart pounding from this small triumph of my own.


	6. Crash

_A/N: Sneakily dedicated to bee (sparklyscorpion)!

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**Crash**

She was a vision in the lush satins of the Countess's costume. She should always be wrapped in such fineries, I remember thinking…but a chief répétiteur could never provide all she deserved. Though it pained me, I knew her man could offer her more security than I could ever hope to do. The knowledge that she would be well cared for was a small comfort, though cold. I watched from the wings as she wooed the crowd, her voice soaring above all the others. Little did I know that her world would come crashing down with one little croak.


	7. Tantrum

**Tantrum**

Resisting the urge to pound my fists on the keyboard in a tantrum worthy of La Carlotta herself, I breathe deeply and give the note again. "So, once again - after seven. Five, six, seven…" Unsurprisingly enough, Signor Piangi chooses once more to ignore the notes on the page. The chorus erupts into an absolutely unhelpful cacophony, their bickering and attempts to weasel the tenor into singing the correct phrase drowning out my polite "Ladies…Signor Piangi…if you please…" until finally I give in to temptation and thump the keys soundly with clenched hands_. Let the damned thing play itself!_  
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	8. Circus

_A/N: Until this point the drabbles were somewhat chronological, but from this point on they'll jump around as I write them.  
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**Circus**

At times Émile Reyer felt as if he were employed by a circus, not an opera house. The feeling was particularly strong as he stepped back into the wings and watched what he could only term a dismal rehearsal of Chalumeau's "Hannibal," with its giant plaster elephant and clownish costumes. The new managers were doing nothing to aid the situation, gawking at the ballet rats and making general nuisances of themselves. Mme Giry's cane seemed to be effective in corralling the ballet rats, and Reyer wondered idly if a lion tamer's whip would earn him more of the respect he deserved.


	9. Unexpected

_A/N: Ok, so it's not a drabble...oh well! Hopefully no one minds the extra words ;-) For bee (sparklyscorpion), and inspired by the loffly Ted Keegan's Reyer.

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**Unexpected**

I thought nothing when M. Reyer took my hand after the curtains had closed the final time; the sudden change from the brightness of the limelight to the darkness backstage made it easy for any performer to be nearly blind, and I took it as a kind gesture to lead me safely through the crowd of ballerinas and stagehands. What surprised me, though, was the brief but warm kiss he pressed to my knuckles. He was such an irritable, straight-laced man usually, and this display of approval was unexpected to say the least. He kept a hold of my hand as he guided me to my dressing room, chattering on about how well I had done and what I could do to improve for my next performance.

_My next performance…_

I knew it was a fluke that I had even gone on this evening, so to think that he wanted me to sing Elissa again gave me a thrill. I smiled brightly at him as we reached my door, reluctant to see him leave for I doubted he would still be in this mood tomorrow morning. Before I knew it I felt the bristles of his mustache against my fingers once more and I lowered my eyelashes shyly at the feel of the warm blush that crept across my cheeks.


End file.
